


White Collar Rorsarch Test

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-12
Updated: 2009-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later Nate would hold Brad down and lick at the vee of his neck where the parted shirt showed bare skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Collar Rorsarch Test

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction based upon characters in the HBO miniseries.
> 
> Inspired by this picture:
> 
> [.](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v142/shoshannagold/?action=view&current=drunkskars.jpg)
> 
> For trolleys, in thanks for all the gorgeous art she creates. 

The first time Nate came home from class to find Brad in his bed, asleep, he'd been surprised. They'd only talked three nights before, and Brad hadn't said anything along the lines of, 'Sir, I'll be in your neck of the woods in the next 72 hours.' He didn't even have a key to Nate's place, not that that had ever been a deterrent to any Recon Marine worth his salt.

Nate contemplated waking him, but Brad looked completely exhausted. Nate had had a bitch of a week himself, and it was so much easier to strip off his clothes, pull back the covers, and shove Brad over. Brad didn't open his eyes, but his arms went around Nate's waist and he pulled him in close to his chest. They slept like that, all through the night.

The second time Nate came home to find Brad there without notice, Brad was sitting on Nate's couch in a USMC sweatsuit, kicking his roommate's ass at _Half Life_. Nate would have apologized to Mark, but he was clearly having the time of his life. The language the two of them were using would have melted the paint off the walls in anybody else's house, but Nate lived with sailors and Marines. He just got himself a beer and joined in the heckling.

Later, he bit down on his pillow as Brad fucked him, unwilling to give his roommates that kind of leverage. He didn't need to hear echoes of himself moaning Brad's name as he came at breakfast every morning for the next month, thank you very much.

By the sixth time Brad showed up without notice, Nate knew his roommates were colluding with his boyfriend in an effort to get Nate to chill out. They could go fuck themselves, because he wasn't working too hard and he didn't need an intervention. He could use a fucking nap but clearly that wasn't going to happen, because there was a party on his front porch. And in his living room. And in his kitchen.

But his kitchen also had Brad in it, and Nate might have to reconsider evicting his roommates, because Brad was wearing Nate's shirt. The same shirt that Nate had been wearing last week when he broke a pen – the cleaners hadn't been able to get all the ink out. Brad clearly didn't give a damn about the stains, and now neither did Nate, because the shirt was stretched tightly over Brad's chest and shoulders, and the yellow light in the room hit the white fabric in a way highlighted the flat planes of his stomach. Brad was deeply tanned, and later Nate would hold Brad down and lick at the vee of his neck where the parted shirt showed bare skin.

The party had clearly been going on for a while, even without Nate there, because though Brad had managed to do up his belt the last time he'd hit the john, his fly was still a little unzipped. Nate resisted the urge to pull Brad from the room by that little swath of fabric right now, but as Brad lowered the bottle of beer and _beamed_ at Nate - and fuck, Brad was going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow - Nate could tell Brad knew exactly what he was thinking.


End file.
